Joey’s Chronicles Of A Lagos Ajebutter: This Joey Finally Received His Beating...

I am an Aje-butter. Not by birth, or by formings, or by swag – I am simply an unapologetic ajebutter by default. I didn’t choose to be born one. God, without seeking my opinion (because He’s God, I guess), gave me the genes of an Ajebutter  and a funny Bri-Merican accent . By luck or some twisted work of fate, fortune, karma (I might have killed ten defenseless puppies in my past life) or destiny, I have found myself in Lagos, crazy Lasgidi, and this is my story…

I knew it. I knew I was riding my luck all these months when I strode the angry streets of Lagos, with my chest puffed out thrice its size, my gait assured, and a smug smile on my face, feeling like I owned the planet. I knew sooner, rather than later, I was going to be eased into the reality of Lagos living, but what I didn’t envisage was this.


I got attacked, and almost lost my valuables!

Funny isn’t it. But I got attacked by some hoodlums, and although they tried to rid me of my valuables (phones, money, wristwatch, laptop, and half a pack of Orbit minty gums), the only thing they took home out of our brief encounter was a broken jaw from a good punch I unleashed and the sight of me bounding down the road with a speed rate that would make Usain Bolt envious and green. All the fight moves from vaguely-remembered Jet Li flicks, and my keen interest in athletics paid off big, and here I am, typing away from my laptop, with a smug smile, and chest puffed out twice its size now.

How I got myself into that position was no fault of mine. Due to some unexpected turn of events on my way home from work on Wednesday last week, I found myself marooned on Apongbon beyond 8pm, and still feeling fly I thrust myself in harm’s way by asking for directions on a dark lonely street. 2 hoodlums, both with breaths to rival the stink of soak away pits, and body odors that could end the Syrian war, came down on me, tugging at my black backpack.

“Ogbeni leave that bag.”  He introduced himself, and his motives.

And from that moment my alter ego took over, I channeled my inner Jet Li, landed 2 punches with my free arm, while taking in a punch (all good stories have the hero beaten small), and a painful backslap. But I tugged my bag free, gave a full-throated roar, and sped away, my legs rising to the occasion. I didn’t stop until I was lost in a crowd, certain that I was safe, and without immediate harm. Not bad, eh?

I’ve been initiated into Lagos. All Lagosians have a similar story to tell, and now I have mine. My own story about deadly encounters with scoundrels. It could have been worse, but heck, it isn’t. I escaped to tell the tale. I braved, I fought, I smashed a jaw, I conquered. I am a hero. Roooooaaaar!

This ajebutter faced 2 kpakos, and came out strong. It’s general belief that in fights, the kpako always beats the ajebutter. But with my heroic tale, I believe the balance of power has shifted. I see a new World Fight Order coming, and the ajebutters will dominate the kpakos.

Until then, I better watch my backs. More deadly evils exist. Joey, welcome to Lagos.